


Beginnings End - Divergent A

by InnerSpectrum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-31 22:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: John Watson loses his temper, leaves Baker Street. Sherlock gets caught in a new intrigue doesn't try to get him back. Yet, out of sight does not mean out of mind for either of them. Can they get back to each other? Do they even want to?





	1. Chapter 60: Follow Me Up and Down, All The Way Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thannis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thannis/gifts).



> This is the first of what will be eventually be several _choose your adventure_ type alternate paths stemming from my original slow burner [Beginnings End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/). 
> 
> I cannot manually start this from a different Chapter number. AO3 is starting this at Chapter 1, but in the storyline this replaces the original Chapter 60 and goes on a divergent path from there. 
> 
> If you have not read ["Beginnings End"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/) it is recommend you do so in order to fully appreciate what the characters have gone through to reach this point. If the thought of 59 previous chapters seems daunting (it's worth it - really), then start from [ Chapter 54 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/chapters/28126209) to get an idea.
> 
> For those of you who read "Beginnings End" Welcome Back and I hope you enjoy where this path takes you.

_Four months previous._

Sherlock sat and listened to the beep of the heart monitor. It used to be a most galling noise before - when it was attached to him. It was the most wonderful sound in his world right then. For as long as he heard that sound, that beep, he knew John’s heart still beat, and as John’s beat - so did his own. Because John was his heart, and no one ever wanted their warm heart to be attached to a frigid heart monitor. So, Sherlock sat by his side, yet again in the fruitless mental exercise of how they had got there.

It was his fault…

<><>

Sherlock, John, Lestrade and Sally had chased Henri Moline, a small-time jewel thief who escalated to manslaughter, into an alley in Camden.  The neighborhood was once Donovan’s stomping grounds when she was a beat cop. She knew the area well. Henri had made almost to the other end of an alleyway when Sally came out of seemingly nowhere and brought him down with her baton.  She had a solid knee in Moline’s back as she cuffed him while Lestrade had raised his mobile to radio for a squad car. Without looking Sherlock automatically reached out his right hand for John knowing he’d be there at his side.

Except John wasn’t there.

Sherlock looked to his right when there was no immediate response.

“Lestrade? Where’s John?” He asked though he had already deduced that John had not been there for several minutes.

He reached in his coat, took out his mobile and texted his partner. Both Sherlock and Lestrade’s eyes went wide when Sherlock’s right coat pocket buzzed in response. He remembered then that he had taken John’s mobile, already in the doctor’s hand, rather than be so arsed as to reach into own coat for his own mobile to make a call.  He had walked away from the loud conversations around him at the time and forgotten to give it back when he was done.  The last place he remembered seeing John was…

* * *

_  
SHITE!_

John knew, KNEW he was screwed, the moment he heard the door slam. Sherlock and Lestrade with their longer legs ran into the building behind Henri. He was only two steps – not even five seconds at the maximum behind them, but it five seconds too many. The door slammed in his face, before he could grab it and it locked on him. He heard their footsteps retreating away fast. He had no choice but to go back down the fire escape and hope to catch up with them in front of the building. He reached for his mobile only to find his pocket empty.

_Damn you, Sherlock!_

He was down at the ground level and tried the main level door at the rear of the building they had come through, only to find that it had locked closed as well. He had no choice but to go through the alley way between the buildings.

John missed a step in the dark and tripped over someone’s foot.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“Sorry mate.” John kept moving.

“You got any money, mister?”

He heard the movement behind him and ducked out of the way of a bat. He spun and snatched the bat away from its owner then tossed it away.

“Just trying to get to the front not looking for trouble.”

He stepped quickly sideways as he kept one eye on the exit, the other on the two silhouettes headed towards him. John thought he heard the front door of the building open, Lestrade’s familiar voice yelling, when a surprisingly strong arm grabbed him from behind and he felt the cold sharp edge a blade in the soft part of his jaw by the submandibular.

_Okay, more for show than for real damage. Just some posturing._

“Got ‘im, Eddie. He not from ‘round here.”

“What I tells you ‘bout using names, _Bobby_? Now we got to ‘urt him good. Makes sure he knows not to say nothin’. ‘Cause you ain’t is you?” the silhouette named Eddie hissed. A torch shined bright in John’s face effectively blocked him from seeing his assailants clearly.

_Luckily silhouettes are just enough for me._

John nodded and said nothing as he very slowly brought his hand up behind him.

_Focusing on the wrong thing boys._

“Oi! I know ‘is face! Seen ‘im on the telly a bit back. Usta be with that detective bloke. He a doctor, must got some quid on him.” The second silhouette spoke.

_Still, can’t let them frisk me. If they get the Browning this could get much worse._

As soon as Silhouette #2 moved so did John. He stomped hard on Bobby’s instep, then slammed his head back into Bobby’s as he reached up and grabbed the wrist and hand that held the blade and pushed. He nicked his chin, but he knew it was nothing as he used the forward momentum to stab at Eddie’s wrist that held the torch. As Eddie cried out in pain, it was almost muscle memory as John seized Bobby’s arm and slammed his hand down onto the arm. The torch and the blade clattered to the ground simultaneously. John wraps his right hand round the front of Bobby’s neck, spun him around and swung him against Silhouette #2, then used his foot to sweep Bobby’s feet from under him. It caused a domino effect that brought all three men down. John brandished the Browning, flicking off the safety.

“Everyone remembers the doctor part, but conveniently forgets the Army part. Stay down and I’ll _make sure not to say nothing_. Get up and I will put you down.”

He backed carefully out of the remainder of the alley.  The three idiots moved, but stayed where they were, not following him.

Once he was on the pavement, cleared of the alley, he placed the safety back on the Browning and returned it the holster at the back of his waist when he saw Sherlock and Lestrade running towards him.

He had expected the curly haired genius to slow down once he saw John was okay, but he didn’t. Sherlock only stopped because John was in his arms and any further forward motion would have put them on the ground. He could feel Sherlock as he trembled in relief, apologies fell from his lips.

It didn’t matter, John was too pissed-off to care.

* * *

 

Sherlock felt the anger as John brought his arms between them and shoved him away, hard.  

“Give me my mobile _now_!” John ordered.

There was nothing Sherlock could say; the consulting detective was in the wrong and he knew it. Still, Sherlock started to speak as John reached for the mobile.

“Don’t, just don’t.” John lifted a finger to silence him.

“But John…”

“Did you even notice the door slammed on me at the roof?”

Even if Lestrade’s expression had not given it away, Sherlock’s guilt had.

“God DAMN you!” John voice thundered. He cared not that it was half of midnight.  John had grabbed his hand about to yell some more when all three men froze. Sherlock knew then that they had heard it as well when John spun. He and Greg both drew their respective weapons.

It was the unmistakable sound of the cock of a pistol.

Before Sherlock could think, he was stopping himself from falling backwards from John’s hard shove as he heard the gun discharge, then the sick wet sound as a bullet entered…  

Sherlock idly noted Lestrade’s return fire, his attention fully on John who had cried out.

“John?” Sherlock caught John as he slumped against him.

Sherlock felt the warmth of John’s blood on his hand; the hand that John had grabbed. Sherlock felt the blood drip through his fingers.

“JOHN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tile is from John Denver “Follow Me”
> 
> <\-- [**Previous Chapter** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/chapters/28378664)


	2. Chapter 61: I Can't Survive, I Can't Stay Alive Without Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade approached carefully.  
> He knew Sherlock had noticed he arrived, but Sherlock had not looked up from his concentrated study of a spot on the littered tile floor of the waiting room. He seemed impervious to the din of the telly and conversation around him. His long pale fingers clutched at his coat so hard that his knuckles were showing through his skin. His eyes were haunted.  
>  _He looks so... so lost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the 4th of July (a national holiday), here in the US. Thought I'd toss out the next chapter early in celebration - enjoy!

_Four months previous_

Greg Lestrade knew Mycroft was out of town, so he went to New Scotland Yard and had Sally Donovan start the processing of Moline and Bobby Whalen, a known young thug from the neighborhood who pulled the trigger, before he hurried back to the hospital. He found Sherlock sitting in the waiting room near St. Bartholomew’s A&E.

He had seen more than enough traumatized people in his job. He has seen the fear and tears and panic of civilians, and sometimes cops, who lose it in strenuous situations on a regular basis.  However, Sherlock Holmes was never one of them. Sherlock reveled in those strenuous situations. Circumstances that would have left any other person shocked and terrified? He thrived in them as he strutted around, mocked everyone's intelligence, gloriously enraptured in the thrill of another completed case.

So, it was more disconcerting than the DI would like to admit having found Sherlock Holmes doing nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Sherlock sat in the ever-uncomfortable molded plastic chairs, his pale face stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

Greg had seen Sherlock surprised or taken aback, but he had never seen the consulting detective gone pale.

_No man should be that pale. He looks like a goddamned ghost for God’s sake!_

He was pale and trembling. No, not trembling - shaking.

_Christ Almighty! He's shaking!_

Sherlock Homes was visibly shaking.  

The detective sat hunched in on himself, pulling his coat tight around him. His face was barely seen above the popped collar, the great coat seemed to swallow him into invisibility. Greg wagered if Sherlock could have made himself disappear right then and there he would have.

Sherlock Homes was a man who drew a crowd. Even snarling and hurling insults, one was drawn to him, but not then. His magnetic presence now had the polar opposite effect as his despondency repelled.

Though in a room full of others, there was a marked sense of space around the man. Everyone ignored him. Left him to sit adrift in the waiting room to suffer in an unnatural silence.

Lestrade approached carefully.

He knew Sherlock had noticed he arrived, but Sherlock had not looked up from his concentrated study of a spot on the littered tile floor of the waiting room. He seemed impervious to the din of the telly and conversation around him. His long pale fingers clutched at his coat so hard that his knuckles were showing through his skin. His eyes were haunted.

 _He looks so... so_ lost _._

* * *

 

_It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault._

The words circled Sherlock’s mind palace. They ricocheted off walls, bounced off floors and echoed off ceilings in accusation.

_I should have never taken his mobile. It’s my fault. I thought he was right behind me, I should have looked.  It’s my fault._

Lestrade was talking to him. He heard the man, yet it was as if he listened through someone else's ears from a distance. It was all indistinct chatter, a garbled sound that blended in with the din around him. It was nothing.

_It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault._

"Do you hear me, Sherlock?"

Lestrade sighed and took a seat to his right.

_No. John sits there, not you, John. John should be there grousing about something or another. He should be telling me what an idiot I am. Fussing at me to eat._

Lestrade must have sensed his unease at seat choice, for the DI got up and switched to a seat to Sherlock’s left. "Sherlock, look…  John is strong. If Afghanistan did not get him either time, especially this second run, this for certain will not be what brings him down."

Sherlock vaguely heard Lestrade, but he could not speak – could not move. There was no reason to.

_If John… If John… why should ever I do anything, ever again?_

Lestrade’s mobile pinged. He looked at it, glanced at Sherlock and he mumbled something before he got up to take the call elsewhere.

_Mycroft - checking on me. He can get the information of John’s status on his own._

“Your brother said he’ll be here by 08:30. Anthea’s already on her way.” Lestrade sat beside him again, when done with the call a few minutes later.

Some small very part of Sherlock noted that Lestrade had not bothered to try hiding that it was Mycroft who called. He thought he nodded to Greg to acknowledge he heard. He was not sure. Nor did he care.

_John is everything – EVERYTHING! I can’t lose him. I can’t! We waited so long to get here._

Sherlock’s head fell into his hands. He groaned lowly as his eyes closed and did the only thing he could do.

Wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Thelma Houston “Don’t Leave Me This Way”


	3. Chapter 62: It's Like That I've Stopped Breathing, But Completely Aware

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, do feel free to shut the fuck up Mycroft.” The look John threw him was significant.

_Four months previous_

John’s eyes slowly fluttered open, closed for a moment, then opened again on the all too familiar wall paper.

_St. Bart’s. Oh, right bullet. I’m in the same private room Sherlock had been in during his coma._

John closed his eyes to the bright overhead light and tried to take stock. Bullet entered, but did not exit. He presumed a small caliber going by the amount of pain, taking the morphine drip into account as well. His beard itched.

_Beard?_

John had grown beards when on missions where shaving was not a priority. He knew what a couple of days of stubble felt like the verses several days’ worth of growth he could feel without even touching his face.

_Beard, not just stubble. How long have I been here?_

He realized his hand as well as his face itched. The back of his hand was tickled by hair, even as it was loosely held.

John felt the gentle grip of long fingers, looked down and smiled.

_Sherlock._

Had he not known Sherlock did not believe in any God, he would have thought the curly hair genius was praying over him. It came as a surprise when John realized, in the enigmatic man’s own way that was exactly what Sherlock was doing.

“Don’t leave me, Love. I understand what I’ve done to you now, when I fell. I know and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I know I’m wrong to ask that you not accidently do to me the very thing I intentionally did to you. I know this, but stay for me, John. Stay for us. We’ve made it this far and we’re so close to everything we’ve ever wanted with each other. I love you so much. It’s been almost two weeks, John. Do not… Do not die on me. Come back to me, John. Come back, Love… _Please_!”

It was that last “ _Please!_ ” that got to John.  The heartfelt barely heard whisper from Sherlock, not realizing he had an audience. William Sherlock Scott Holmes begged for John to not leave him, to not die.

_He said it’s been almost two weeks? Have I been in a coma? Oh God!_

Sherlock’s grip slackened and John realized Sherlock had fallen asleep. His dark tangle of curls brushed against the back of John’s hand as his sleep laden head, facing the footboard, slid to the bed.

John squeezed the hand still in his - no response.

_Then he hasn’t truly slept in nearly two weeks? Christ!_

When the slackened grip fell away entirely, John lifted his hand to Sherlock’s head and chuckled as he stroked the dark curls.

_You would fall asleep as soon as I’ve woken up. The universe has jokes._

<><> 

Mycroft reached John’s room later with a change of clothes for Sherlock. He was about to enter when he heard John speaking.

_John’s awake. Good. Sherlock will be easier to deal with._

Something in John’s tone made Mycroft stop and listen.

Mycroft was in his “minor” position for a reason. Other than rescuing Sherlock from Serbia, it may have been a couple of decades since he did legwork, but even with the prosthetic, he knew he still had the touch. It was that odd near twilight time where the final hour dragged on between before shift change and the floor was quiet. He opened the door a fraction and peeked in.  John’s eyes were closed as he lay on the bed, one hand gently stroked the hair of his sleeping brother as he spoke.

_On top of him always being one, Sherlock is going to have one hell of a pain in his neck when he wakes. How did they examine John with him there?_

“…a clear night…in a jungle some place. I remember being driven crazy by the sweat dripping down the crack of my arse. I know, I know… any way there were six of us. Brewer and I were on watch. I was looking up through the leaves and saw the stars. There were so many. It reminded me of when we were in the Vauxhall Arches looking for the Golem. You looked up at the shockingly clear night showing what seemed to be an impossible array of stars for central London and commented on their beauty…”

Mycroft ever so slowly and silently made his way into the room and closed the door. A small chuckle escaped from John, still stroking the inky curls of the sleeping genius while he continued to speak. It was such a loving gentle touch. Watching John’s face, the repetitive touch as equally comforting to the doctor to give as it was to Sherlock even in his sleep.

_I know many an evening at Baker Street is spent that way, between the two of you. Only in more comfortable positions._

Any doubts Mycroft may have had regarding John’s devotion to his baby brother were slowly erased in the weeks since the former army captain moved back in 221B Baker Street. The men either forgot about the hidden cameras or didn’t care. He suspected it was the former for John and the latter for his brother.

A little over three months after John moved back to Baker Street, Anthea whose job it was to review the footage and report anything unusual, had flat out demanded the relocation of several cameras throughout the flat one morning after a highly active and apparently inventive evening between the men.

“Sir, I now know where moles and other unique markings exist on both men to the point that I could identify their decapitated bodies naked if need be. They can be so sickeningly sweet in their domestic bliss, observing their tender moments makes me want to hurl. Yet, observing their more explicit moments, even on fast forward, makes me want to disinfect. I honestly don’t know who is worse between the two in creativity, but my God, sir!”

It was the silliest two thousand pounds he had received from Lady Smallwood in their little wagers. Elizabeth had bet his aide-de-camp would crack in the second month of watching those two. He knew Anthea was made of sterner stuff, even if he was a tad disappointed she was three days shy of the fourth month he had predicted.

Even so, it was hard for Mycroft to reconcile the complete 180 degree turn before him. That this gentle and loving, albeit wounded John who now laid in the hospital bed with Sherlock asleep by his hand was the very same John who cried and prayed by the comatose Sherlock’s hand after he beat his brother half to death. The irony of it being the same hospital and same room was not lost on the elder Holmes brother as he listened to John.

“…I remember thinking how those stars did not compare to the gleam in your eyes at that moment in the Arches. How the excitement of the game glittered in your beautiful eyes. There’s nothing more amazing to see than you at the top of your game and I sat there in that jungle, looking up at those stars and God I missed you so much, Sherlock! So damned much! I remember I was grateful for the sweating because it hid my tears. I think Evans, who was closest to me, might have heard a sound that escaped, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. How badly I wanted to tell you _I love you_. It was a physical ache that _hurt_ so much. Neither of us are spring chickens, Sherlock. I need to show you how much I love you for as much time as we have left together on this earth. Our being here in this hospital right now is proof enough of how precarious it is and I…”

John’s words trailed off as he sniffed deep through his nose. He stopped stroking Sherlock’s hair and Mycroft knew by the change in disposition that John was aware of his presence. 

Mycroft sighed, knowing what gave him away.

_My cologne._

“Christ, you are good. I need to have a grocer’s bell put on that door. How long have you been there eavesdropping?” John turned his head to Mycroft as he stroked Sherlock’s hair again, idly twisted random curls around his fingers.

_I’d wager he barely registers that he’s doing it._

“Only enough to know that you think very highly of my brother’s eyes. And that it was the Khargoosh Recon you were on once you mentioned Brewer and Evans names. That was the one of the last missions in which I had you sent. You were an excellent asset Watson. Your work there saved a few hundred lives.” Mycroft moved from the door slightly.

“Oh, do feel free to shut the fuck up Mycroft.” The look John threw him was significant.

_He is not the type to be easily mollified by such praise, even if I honestly meant it. There’s too much history between us._

“Fine, I came to bring my brother a change of clothes. I was hoping I could get some food in him.” Mycroft approached the bed.

“He should be more willing now that I’m awake.” John looked down at the curly head under his hand. His warm smile as he played with a dark curl said more than any words could have.

“Mycroft?” John looked up at him. There was something in his voice that made the elder Holmes brother take note.

“I’ve apologized to him, but not to you. I am sorry. Your brother and I, back then we--- I don’t know. There’s no excuse for what I did then and it still haunts me that I was capable of doing such.” John glanced down at the sleeping man before him. John looked up at Mycroft again, a steel resolve in his being. “I need you to believe me when I say it will _never_ happen again. I don’t know how your brother can still love me, but I know he does. And I him. I love him so much, Mycroft.”

Mycroft stared hard at the man for a moment, his face impassive as always as he placed the bag and umbrella he carried on the bed. He instinctively knew he had just been given a _John Absolute_ as Mary called it.

_He is trying, for Sherlock’s sake. I can do no less._

“I do not get to pick who my brother chooses to love. I won’t lie to you - I would prefer he not love at all. It makes my life easier, less people I have to protect for him. Even if he would let me do such a thing as pick for him, I never would have picked you.” His cool stare flicks to his brother, then back to John. For a moment it is Sherlock’s battered face Mycroft sees on the bed. John flinched, the memory hurting him as well he also glanced to Sherlock and back.

It is with some surprize Mycroft realized that John knew exactly where his mind went and reacted. That the doctor can read Sherlock is one thing, but to also be able to read him to such a degree – that was something else. In fact, other than their parents, John is likely the only other person on this earth who knows he and his brother well enough to read them to the degree that he can.

_Well, maybe Lady Smallwood to a lesser degree._

“Look Mycroft, you and I am never going to be each other’s favorite person. I am well aware his love for me is the only thing keeping me alive. You love him, more than you want to destroy me. As much as Harry and I can’t stand each other at times, she is my sister. I understand, I do, but it hurts him to know you’d love any excuse to put a bullet in me still. I let my own guilt let you scare me away once – it will never happen again. I’m not going anywhere Mycroft. So we need to figure out how to get along if only for Sherlock’s sake.” The soft smile lit the doctor’s face as his hand rested lightly on Sherlock’s head. “Because I’m in this until death us do part.”

“You’re not asking for my permission nor blessing.” Mycroft said as he leaned casually against the bed. “Because I know neither of you could not care less whether I gave either.”

“You’re right, I’m not. And you’re right we don’t.” John admitted. “But I, I am asking you to try to let him be happy with me, when he says _yes_ , because I am asking _will you marry me?_ ”

“When he says yes?” Mycroft scoffed at John’s certainty.

“Yes, _when_. Because I know he heard me - right Love?” John playfully flicked the back of the head that laid in front of him.

Sherlock opened his eyes, lifted his head and saluted his brother as he stretched the kink out of his neck. “Blood.”

“I will happily say it. But _only_ , if you go back to doing what you were doing.” he smiled wickedly at John before he put his head back down where he faced the doctor this time. “Your hand feels so good stroking my head.”  

Sherlock and John paused, looked at each other and then giggled madly.

Mycroft shook his head at them. _Oh for God’s sake – you two!_

“Prat.” John laughed, stroking the genius’ head again.

“ _Yes._ ” Sherlock purred as he reached for John’s hand and kissed the fingers. “Your prat.”

“Just how long have you been awake?” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“At least since I told you to shut the fuck up. That’s when I felt it.” John smiled at Sherlock, who raised his head again.

Sherlock had not moved that Mycroft could see since he entered the room. Mycroft had only observed that his brother was awake when he put the bags down, yet John saw it before him.  

John started to lean forward. Sherlock automatically leaned towards John to match him, but stopped. Mycroft felt more than saw the near imperceptible flick his brother’s head towards him. John was not as subtle. His blue eyes met Mycroft’s for a heartbeat before gazing upon Sherlock again. The small warm smile that appeared as the former army doctor focused on his brother again, was all the elder brother needed to see.

Mycroft knew an unspoken _Get Out_ when he heard one.

_God they do deserve each other!_

Were he truly honest with himself, he would openly admit to a bit of envy as he observed it.

He cleared his throat gently garnering his brother's attention and visible ire.

“Text when you're ready to return to Baker Street and properly bathe. _Eau de Industrial Sanitizer_ does not become you, Brother dear.” The Iceman said plainly as he scratched at his eyebrow with his ring finger.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he returned his gaze to the man in front of him.

Mycroft suspected what was about to happen between them. There was nothing else he could do or say.

Mycroft picked up his umbrella, turned and left the room.

Clearly neither wanted a witness and Mycroft certainly did not want to be one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Lady Gaga “Million Reasons”


	4. Chapter 63: Isn't It Amazing How Some Things Completely Turn Around?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ya’arburnee, John. If I have to bury you, then… Then I will be digging space for two, because I will follow you.” his usually mellifluous baritone broke as it dropped to a fierce whisper, “I. Will. Follow. You.”
> 
> John’s breath hitched at the steel in the declaration. He knew Sherlock meant it.

_Four months previous_

Sherlock had slowly awakened to the sound of John’s voice casually speaking to him as the doctor gently stroked his hair. He listened to the tone of John’s soothing voice.

_Only a slight hint of the pain I know he’s in. The morphine drip is doing its job._

It was an odd position Sherlock had fallen asleep in and he knew he was going to have a crick in his neck when he finally moved it. Still, it felt nice, really nice, calming - John’s hand gently running through his hair, twirling a random curl around his finger. He didn’t want it to stop. John was as well as he could be all things considered, so he let the petting continue as he enjoyed the sound and feel of his love just for a little while longer.

Then he realized Mycroft had snuck into the room.

_Go away Mycroft. Or if you must stay, don’t upset him._

He had felt the change in John’s breathing moments before the doctor sniffed the air. He knew the doctor realized his brother was in the room and addressed him.

_Nicely done!_

John’s observational skills would never be on par with his and Mycroft’s, but they had improved much over the years of being around them.

_No! He did NOT just tell the British Government to shut the fuck up! Yes, my love!_

John’s movements hitched for just a second and Sherlock knew the gig was up. John knew he was awake, but John returned to the petting saying nothing as he and Mycroft continued to speak.

Sherlock knew the doctor would be ecstatic if he and Mycroft never had to cross paths again and Sherlock could not blame him. Still, the doctor was a realist and knew the impossibility of such with the lives they led. Yes, Sherlock needed John more than he needed his brother, but John implicitly understood Sherlock needed his brother. It was why he saved Mycroft’s life.  So Sherlock’s heart lurched as John verbally offered an olive branch to his brother, more for Sherlock’s peace of mind than for his own.

_You would do that for me, wouldn’t you?_

_John knows I’m listening and he just proposed?! Does he know I know?_

He blinked when he realized John knew that he was awake before Mycroft had.

_Oh, Brother Mine, middle age is slowing you down._

* * *

 

John was about to speak, but Sherlock held up a hand that halted the doctor, now a patient, as he listened to his brother's footsteps fade before he turned back to John.

“John, you… You pushed me. You took the bullet…” Sherlock took a breath as he held John’s hand in his. He had begun with in his normal voice, but something in face shifted and he suddenly yelled.  “What in the hell were you thinking?! You cannot do that, ever again!”

“You can’t demand that of me Sherlock!” John countered just as hotly, the unexpected fury in Sherlock’s eyes startled him.

“The hell I can’t!”

“I buried you once, Sherlock. I would take several bullets and go into the ground myself before I will EVER let that happen again!” John yelled, then winced from the exertion as snatched his hand away to lightly touch his bandages.

Sherlock audibly gasped and then crumbled before John. His body nearly doubled into John's lap as he carefully, but definitively held onto the former army captain for dear life, barely coherent words fell from his trembling lips.

“Ya’arburnee, John. If I have to bury you, then… Then I will be digging space for two, because I will follow you.” his usually mellifluous baritone broke as it dropped to a fierce whisper, “I. Will. Follow. You.”

John’s breath hitched at the steel in the declaration. He knew Sherlock meant it.

_Oh God! Oh Sherlock! You would! You can’t!_

He leaned over Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him, his own tears falling.

“Is everything all rig… oh!” a nurse had heard the yelling and popped her head in. Both men heard her, but neither acknowledged her as they held on to each other. Seeing the men in a clearly private moment she quietly backed out of the room.

John winced as he carefully leaned back in to sitting up again, his wound not letting him stay in that bent position but so long.

Sherlock lifted his head. Unshed tears made his eyes glitter in shades of grayish-green in the hospital lights as he rose and hitched a hip on the side of the bed. John reached up and wiped a tear that dared to escape and trail down the cheekbone of that beautiful face. Sherlock reached into a pocket and pulled out a jeweler’s box for John to see.

John raised a blond brow not recognizing it. He frowned and opened the box to reveal a beautiful platinum band, with trillion cut diamond.

_That’s not my box or my ring. Where is it? Does he know?_

Then he got it and gasped “Oh…Oh!”

_Oh. My. God. Sherlock Holmes is proposing! To me!_

“I purchased this the morning before we took down Henri Moline. This is the ring I was going to propose to you with as soon as the case was over and we were back at Baker Street, but this happened.” Sherlock made a small sweeping gesture indicating the hospital room.

Sherlock reached into a different pocket, pulled out another jeweler’s box and handed it to John, who opened it. Inside was a different ring; this one with a dark titanium band and a trillion cut black diamond. That was the ring John had purchased for Sherlock.

_How?_

As if he had read John’s mind, Sherlock continued, “Mycroft told me about yours after his minions had informed him, that I bought mine. By the time he found out, we were in pursuit of Moline and then you were here. I hadn’t known you already bought a ring. That you had planned on asking me at the next time we made it to Angelo’s - nice move.”

“It seemed appropriate – it was the first place we, well I, had dinner with you. So Angelo can light another candle since it’s _more romantic_.” John imitated Angelo’s voice as Sherlock smiled at the memory. He pulled the titanium band from its box and held it out to Sherlock who quirked a brow. “God I love you so much! I did ask before, in front of Mycroft, and you said yes, but I’ll ask again. Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?”

“Yes, John Watson, I will.” Sherlock smiled tenderly as he held out his hand and John slipped the ring on his finger.

Sherlock held his jewelers box aloft to John.

“John, you know me. Know me for the cantankerous, insulting, acerbic, headstrong and ridiculous arse that I am. Yet, here we are. You still love me regardless. You soften my edges while keeping me fine honed. I have tested you, occasionally experimented on you – sorry about that.” John rolled playfully at that, “At every chance it seemed we pushed each other away. Yet, here we are. With the exceptions of the Fall and the Rupture, no one has loved me as you have. You make me a better person, more than that you make me want to be a better person, not just for you, but for myself. For here we are. _We_. There is such magic and promise in those two letters combined into one word. _We_. These past twelve days that you have lain here have been the most excruciating of my life for it has shown me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I can no longer live as I, as first person, singular - anymore. Since you’ve been here, I’ve barely slept. I’d fall into exhausted sleep and each time I woke, but you hadn’t yet, I felt it to my core. The wrongness of going back to “I”, how I feared the cruelness of it, now that you’ve shown me the magic of _we_ and how good it can be, for here we are.  I don’t want to let another day of life go by without being by your side. I’ve called you my colleague, my friend, my partner and at long last - _my love_ …”

Sherlock took the platinum band out of its box and held it out.

“John, please, will you now allow me the honor to call you the most dangerous and most amazing two words I never dreamed I’d speak: _my husband_?”

_Dangerous._

“You said “Dangerous” - here I am.” John’s lips quirked. Sherlock chuckled at the memory from oh so long ago. 

“Yes, Sherlock.” John whispered reverently as he held out his hand and Sherlock slipped the ring on.

“This is fitting.” John realized then that he and Sherlock, unbeknownst to each other, had chosen nearly identical designs in bands, only one light and one dark. John threaded their fingers together, making their mutual engagement rings clink, Sherlock lifted their hands and kissed John’s fingers.

“Oh, that’s so not working for me.” John purred and pulled Sherlock closer into a deep kiss.

“John Watson, you’re _injured_. It’s the morphine talking.” The detective responded when he could breathe again moments later. “I don’t think this is what is meant by _love hurts_. You’re a doctor, you know better.”

“I’m a doctor, I know better. It’s fine.” John grinned lasciviously as a he grabbed Sherlock’s hand and used it to touch himself through the blanket, “Lock the door and I’ll show exactly where _love hurts_.”

“John!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from P.M. Dawn - “Die Without You”
> 
> Ya’arburnee – (Arabic) The feeling of wanting to die first, because you can’t bear the thought of living without a loved one. Translates literally as 'may you bury me.'


	5. Chapter 64: No Matter, Come What May, Love Will Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snort from Mycroft and giggles that erupted from Greg did nothing to alleviate his annoyance as he removed the shirt and put it on properly.   
> _Oh bloody, bloody hell!_  
>  “Oh, here be madness.” Mycroft let one of his very rare smiles break free, “A little nervous are we brother dear?”  
>  _Zip it Mycroft!_

_Today._

Greg Lestrade walked into the room as Sherlock was putting the first arm through the sleeve on his shirt.

Sherlock knew the man was trying hard not to laugh.

_Oh, what nonsense is this going to be?_

“I mean – how?” Greg managed to get out almost straight faced.

He had tried not to laugh. Really, he had tried.

Sherlock turned to his brother as he slipped the other shirt sleeve on.

Mycroft’s eyes went wide in surprise and…

_My God is that…? Is that amusement? My brother is never amused enough to show it!_

Greg took one look at Mycroft’s expression and he lost it.

Completely.

_I don’t have time for this! What the…?_

Sherlock finally looked down when he did not find the buttons to his shirt where he expected them to be. He then understood the sudden mirth of Greg and Mycroft.

The snort from Mycroft and giggles that erupted from Greg did nothing to alleviate his annoyance as he removed the shirt and put it on properly.

_Oh bloody, bloody hell!_

“Oh, here be madness.” Mycroft let one of his very rare smiles break free, “A little nervous are we brother dear?”

_Zip it Mycroft!_

 “Christ! And I thought John had butterflies!” Greg had his arms crossed, a hand partially obscured his grin.

 “Don’t you dare tell John!” Sherlock bristled, then looked up as he thought about the doctor, “Is he okay?”

“Almost as bad as you. He couldn’t tie a Windsor knot to save his own life right now, but he’s settled for the moment. So, I came to check on you. Ready when you are.” Greg got his mirth under control, “Mycroft, text me when he’s ready.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but gave the detective inspector something approximating a smile.

“Buck up Sherlock, after all you and John have gone through? This is nothing, mate – you got this!” Greg left to go back to John.

“This would have gone a lot faster were we in the same room.” Sherlock grumbled to his brother as he tucked his shirt into his trousers.

“Were you two in the same room this event would have been delayed by at least an hour, considering you two have no self-control around each other whatsoever.” Mycroft rolled his eyes as he walked over to arrange Sherlock’s tie.

Sherlock smirked when Mycroft paused briefly in the midst of tying. Knowing how much he hates anything around his neck other than his scarf, Sherlock knew his brother had briefly considered to jokingly, he hoped, choke him with the tie as he slid the knot in place.

_Of course, he gets the double Windsor perfect on the first try._

“If I recall correctly, the last time I wore a tie was at John’s wedding.” 

“You know you recall correctly, Sherlock, don’t be falsely modest unnecessarily.” Mycroft softly chided, knowing Sherlock could name the date and time he both donned and removed the tie had he wanted. 

“It is fitting you wear one now in correction of that mistake.”  Mycroft picked an invisible piece of lint from his brother’s jacket.

_In correction? Mistake?_

“Are you well, Brother Mine?” Sherlock blinked in surprise at the compliment.

“I concede, his first marriage was a mistake, nothing more.” Mycroft stepped back.

“Are you ever going to forgive John?” Sherlock sighed.  

_Let it go, Mycroft. I’ve forgiven him. Why can’t you?_

Sherlock stared into his brother’s cool eyes. Eyes that he had sworn to protect him from before his he was even born. He knew Mycroft understood he was not asking for approval. He was only asking for acceptance of his choice as John had asked him at the hospital.

_John is trying to be courteous to you for my sake. Can you not give me that much?_

“Perhaps someday - when my mind starts to become feeble enough to let me delete the memory. But I no longer hate him for what happened, if that helps. And I cannot deny that you are a better man with him in your life.” Mycroft reached up and rearranged a curl of his hair. He frowned when Sherlock shook his head dislodging his work, but he could see the slight crinkling that told him his brother was more amused than annoyed.

“His first marriage should have been to you.” Mycroft stated matter-of-fact as he helped Sherlock into his jacket.

If Mycroft expected him to be surprised by that admission he had succeeded.  Sherlock blinked rapidly.

[ _Had I the guts back then, perhaps on the day I got married the person wearing my wedding ring would have been you.]_

“John had alluded to such in his letter.” He admitted.

“If you had not died, I fully believe his first and only marriage would have been to you, Sherlock. Just as I know this will be your first and only marriage.” Mycroft’s gaze fell upon him.

_He means it. He really means it._

Sherlock opened his mouth, but no sound would come out. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I do in fact love you, big brother – you do know that, don’t you?” Sherlock grasped Mycroft’s arm.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock into a rare affectionate hug between them. “I know, little brother, I do. And I you.”

“I know.” Sherlock returned the hug, then pushed away, “Oh God, what is wrong with us? Can we please stop before we get… sentimental?”

Mycroft frowned in semi-serious horror at such a thought. Sherlock sniffed a laugh at the familiarity of falling back to their usual snappish behavior. Still, it was damned good for both of them to hear the words actually spoken between them. Sherlock nodded his readiness and Mycroft pulled out his mobile to text Greg. “Shall we?”

* * *

 

“Really? He did that?” John grinned at Greg’s telling of Sherlock’s shirt, finding odd comfort in knowing his partner was just as jittery as he.

“The look on his face though – priceless! I wish I had thought fast enough to grab a pic.” Greg acted out Sherlock’s confused reaction and John nearly howled imagining it.

_Whatever would Sherlock have done with himself had Lestrade not offered the mad genius access to crime scenes and cases? Does Greg even know how grateful Sherlock to him?_

“Greg, look… I know he feels it, but it’s not likely Sherlock is ever going to say this to you, but he does love you and appreciate your friendship in his own way.” John began.

“I know John.” Greg assured him, “He would have cut me off and found another cop to work with eons ago, had he found me truly unworthy of his time. When you guys first got engaged he told me, if he hadn’t had Mycroft in his life, he would have asked me to be Best Man.”

_Really?_

“He did?” John asked surprised. Sherlock had said as much to him, when John informed him he had asked the detective inspector to be his best man.  He was glad Sherlock had said something to the man himself.

“Actually, what he said was as “Lestrade, I am marrying the best man there is and as this is likely only the situation in which John cannot physically fulfill that function, if I did not have Mycroft, I could think of no one better who would do.” Greg grinned “I’m not as good as you at decoding him, but I’ve spent enough time interpreting Holmesian to know what that means.”

_Yeah, that sounds more like him!_

“Brilliant!” he grinned as Greg’s mobile rang in and John knew what it was.

_It’s time. Why am I suddenly so nervous?_

“His highness, the drama queen, is ready.” Greg proclaimed with a sweeping gesture to the door.  “Ready?”

“Ready.”

* * *

 

By mutual agreement between the Best Men, Greg and Mycroft decided to separate John and Sherlock from each other the night before. Mycroft setup an intricate puzzle as a cold case which had Sherlock researching in one area of London, with John researching in another. By the time either of them realized they were being led astray the plan was well in progress.

“Greg, what the bloody hell? What the grooms shouldn’t see each other before the wedding?” John thought it was hilarious once he caught on and took it in good stride. Greg called a couple of their friends and turned it into an impromptu stag night.

Sherlock went into a full-on strop once he deduced it. Mycroft knew it was more about having one pulled on him than the actual separation. Luckily, the elder Holmes brother had years of experience in dealing with his baby brother’s theatrics until he settled. Settled of course meant, Mycroft had drugged Sherlock’s drink, so he slept and would be less of a bundle of nerves in the morning driving everyone around him crazy.

All of that was forgotten as the grooms met by the French doors to the gardens at last.

John heard Sherlock’s familiar baritone approach while he fussed about something to his brother. He did not see Greg’s amused smile as John simply stopped speaking mid-sentence. Whatever he was saying to Greg forgotten, his focus immediately became attuned to the curly haired genius. He did not recall speaking his beloved’s name, but he must have for Sherlock himself stopped dead in his tracks, his focus swung immediately to the doctor, obliterating attention to anything else as sea green eyes met ocean blues.

Unlike the formality of his first wedding, John was simply dashing in a non-traditional dove grey tail coat and trouser combo. The lapel of the coat in a matte black satin. His crisp white shirt was offset by the midnight blue, double-breasted, shawl collared waistcoat. The colors bringing out his eyes and silver streaked hair. A silver tie pin in the shape of a violin held the black silk tie in place and black patent shoes finished off the look.

Wearing the opposite coloring of his partner, Sherlock was resplendent in a midnight blue morning suit combo, his waistcoat in dove gray. His tie pin, a stethoscope.  

“Gentlemen…” Anthea met the four men at the door, cleared her throat and held out her purse. As agreed, each man turned off his respective mobile and dropped it into her purse, not to be returned until after the reception. She would be the only person working today. Her job: gatekeeper to happiness. No one will disturb these four men today or they will answer to her. 

* * *

 

“…I get the honor to take you with all your faults and strengths as I offer you the receiving of me with all my faults and strengths. I promise to help you when you need help and turn to you when I need help. I promise to choose you, each and every single day, over and over, in good times and bad to the end of days and beyond. I promise to continue to be your true and loyal friend as well as your love and of course your lover.” John wiggled his brows suggestively as Sherlock grinned, “We’ve had our share of missed chances, purposefully or accidental. Our own moments of tangency where you and I may have never happened. What if I hadn’t decided to take a stroll in Postman’s Park that day and ran into Mike Stamford? It’s a big world after all. What if you never invited me to Baker Street? If parallel universes exist, I feel such pity for the iterations of us that will never meet and get to know this. I feel envy for the us that got it right sooner and have more time together, but in this moment right now? For what it took us to get here, oh how I rejoice for you and me in this universe because with this ring I get to say these next words in any and every iteration for the rest of my life: I love you. I love you. I love you.”

John slipped off Sherlock’s engagement ring, slipped on the wedding band and then slipped the engagement ring back on the finger. He reached up and wiped the tear from Sherlock cheek the detective was not aware had fallen. They could not promise that every tear they cry will be ones of joy like right now, but they promised to be there to catch them when they fall regardless.

Sherlock cleared his throat and began.

 “I did not know what it was yet, but I felt it the moment we made eye contact in Bart’s Lab. Even with my brain, I was a very long way from figuring it out, but I knew I felt _something_. Something powerful, deeper and beyond anything even this analytical mind of mine could calculate and not knowing it for what it was, I dismissed it.  John, you are the dream I never knew I wanted to come true until it did. There is still a part of me today, even as I stand here before you now - that cannot believe that you love me and I am the one who gets to marry you. 

I will value our differences as much as our common ground for you are my counterpart and my accomplice. You are the one who brings me up and makes me laugh when I'm moody and cranky – which is often. You make me reconsider when I tend to be rash – which is often. I pledge to try to not lord it over you too much when I’m right – which is often. And when I’m wrong, – which is not often, I pledge to listen to your advice, and occasionally even take it.”

The guests laugh and John rolled his eyes with mirth, but the warm smile on his doctor’s face as those blue eyes gazed into his again, sears through Sherlock’s soul.

“For a man who once chose to spend his days and nights isolated, because I thought _alone is what protects me_ \- the concept of _with you_ in my life was daunting. And now, now after all we’ve been through - I cannot imagine my life without you. You know me better than anyone else on this planet and somehow still you manage to love me.  These vows are promises to you John, yes, but they are also privileges I am so honored to have – because I get to have them - with you. I get to share laughter, and sometimes tears, with you. To run down dark alleys or stroll up park lanes with you. I get the privilege of the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly of what life has to offer – all of it - with you. For there is nothing I cannot face when I face it with you. I get to live and love this day and each and every day hence forth with you. So, I will echo your words: I love you. I love you. I love you.”

As John had done to him, he switches out the engagement ring, adding the wedding band to John’s finger. He starts to lean in for a kiss when a very deliberate throat clearing by the officiant was heard, “No quite gentleman, almost.”

“Sorry, John’s lips are so…”

“Sherlock!”

“Okay!” The officiant placed his hand on their clasped hands “What the universe has worked so hard to join, let no one put asunder. I now pronounce you husbands.”   

“He can kiss me now?” John jokingly checks, “You’re sure?”

“Oi! Get on with it!” the man laughs releasing their hands.

It was Sherlock’s turn to wriggle his brows as John pantomimes using a breath spray then smacking his lips.

Mycroft groaned, and Greg snickered. If the Iceman, then winked at the DI who returned it with a knowing blush no one noticed over the applause as the newly minted husbands kiss.

John beams at his husband in wonder. “We did it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes-Watson.”

Sherlock returns the loving smile, “At last we did, Mr. John Watson-Holmes.”

“And no potential lives on the line this time!”

“I don’t know, the day is still young, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Al Jarreau – “After All”


	6. Epilogue:  Still Holding On, You're Still The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the days of the Fall and the Rupture neither would have ever imagined this is where they’d be so many years later.
> 
> Yet, here they are, together and happy.
> 
> So gloriously happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of Divergent A - the first of what will be eventually be several _choose your adventure_ type alternate paths stemming from the slow burner [Beginnings End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/). 
> 
> If you have not read ["Beginnings End"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/) it is recommend you do so in order to fully appreciate what the characters have gone through to reach this point. If the thought of 59 previous chapters seems daunting (it's worth it - really), then start from [ Chapter 54 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/chapters/28126209).
> 
> For those of you who read "Beginnings End" Welcome Back and I hope you have enjoyed where this divergent takes you.

Sally ran up to the house, the silver highlights of her prematurely graying brown hair gleamed in her bouncing ponytail. She pulled on the screen door surprised to find it latched.

Molly climbed the stairs to the front porch behind her “What’s the matter Sal?”

“The door is latched. It’s never been latched before, has it? Did they forget we were coming?” Sally pulled the door again to show Molly.

Molly turned to her husband just reaching the stairs “Greg, you did tell them we were coming?”

“They invited us, remember? Besides you saw me text them from the highway that we were less twenty minutes out.” Greg reminded Molly.

“Well, where could those two have gotten off…” Molly started to ask when a very distinct, yet recognizable sound was heard.

“Nice choice of words to stop at, honey.” Greg laughed as Molly turned beet red.

“At their age?” their teenaged daughter Salome, named after his late-partner, cringed dramatically. “You’re kidding?!”

“Hey! I’m older than they are and…” Greg started.

“TMI! TMI! Oh my God, TMI!” Sally screeched covering her ears in mock horror as Molly hit her laughing husband in the arm.

“Told you they would think we were at it again, John.” Sherlock’s amused baritone called out as he approached the screen door and unlatched it. He was holding a wooden spoon with faint remains of batter.

“Oh, Uncle Sherlock please tell me Uncle John is baking what I think he’s baking!” Sally delightedly grins as she barely stopd long enough to kiss his cheek before snatching said spoon from his hand and running to the kitchen.

“And I thought she loved me.” Sherlock mock pouted.

“Aww, you poor abandoned thing! Greg and I still do. ” Molly’s kiss on the cheek lasted a tad longer before she also ran off for the promised goodness in the kitchen.

“It’s your fault for spoiling them.” Greg grinned as the two men cuffed each other on the arms.

While Greg had gone mostly gray by forty and John was completely silver by fifty, Sherlock had gone a becoming salt and pepper mix that at sixty-three was just beginning to look more light than dark, but the curls were as unruly as ever.

“No such thing!” Sherlock grinned as they also headed for the kitchen, “Myc and Liz got here an hour ago. Harry and Clara and their kids are about an hour out.  Hudders and Janine should be coming back from the apiary soon.”

“This house is going to be a madhouse by morning with so many people.” Greg shook his head and grinned.

“It’s John’s birthday. We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

<>===========<>

Late in the night, many hours after the last guest had left, much closer to dawn than midnight, John awakens to an empty bed. He does not think twice about it as he rises and dons his dressing gown.

A home. A farm upon the South Downs in Sussex.

When they moved out here there were bets they would not make it two years.  Yet here they are nearly a decade in. Sherlock a bee-keeper and vendor of honey and John, now a third-time novelist, working on the fourth. During the days of the Fall and the Rupture neither would have ever imagined this is where they’d be so many years later. Granted, Sherlock is the one with the occasional limp these days, a real one – especially in cold weather, and John occasionally still wakes up violently from a war his mind has never quite left.

Yet, here they are, together and happy.

So gloriously happy.

John finds Sherlock exactly where he expects: sitting on the front porch, hands in his dressing gown pockets, looking up at the stars. Sherlock does not flinch when John sits beside him, then wraps a loose arm around him. Together they stare into the cool night. After a while Sherlock stands and leans a shoulder against a post. John stands and surrounds him from behind. He feels when the tall and lanky body relaxes into his hold. As always, John’s right hand goes to Sherlock’s waist and his other hand circles around to rest on his love’s heart. John places a light kiss through Sherlock’s dressing gown between the shoulder blades before he presses the side of his head against the familiar spine and simply holds him. It’s all Sherlock needs.

Sherlock has always been a sporadic sleeper. Age has not tempered that much.  John knows Sherlock was happy for all the company that had swelled their walls this weekend. John is also aware that it was still a lot of input for the man he loves and Sherlock needs this quiet time to resettle. So many years between them now, words are not needed.

John taps his left thumb over Sherlock’s heart. _You okay, love?_

Sherlock lays an arm over the arm around his waist. _Better now that you’re here._

He then places his left hand over John’s, their rings slightly click. _I love you._

John taps the dog togs Sherlock still wore every day. _I love you too._

They stand that way in companionable silence, looking at the stars for a long while before Sherlock slowly turns in John’s arms and faces him. The verdigris eyes may need glasses now to read, but they are no less luminous. As Sherlock looks into John's deep blues he smiles lightly.  John knows what Sherlock sees in him. 

"As I need you, my love?" Sherlock's velvet rumble, so full of meaning, still gets to John; even after all this time. 

Sometimes the moments between them call for quick, dirty, rough.

Sherlock takes both of John’s hands in his and reads him perfectly.

This was not one of those times.

The erstwhile detective pulls the man softly to him and gently kisses the former army captain.

It was not a question, but John nods breathlessly in answer anyway as Sherlock leads them back to their bed.

"Always, my love". 

__

_~ fin – Divergent A ~_

 

This is the end of “Beginnings End – Divergent A”, but there is another path....

Read “[Beginnings End - Divergent O](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/chapters/28378664)”:

Want to return to where it all started? Read "[Beginnings End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161767/)" from the beginning,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from Bryan Adams "Can't Stop Loving You"


End file.
